


I Never Wanted This (But I Have to Follow Through)

by JoLau



Category: Sister Claire (Webcomic)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Lots of Hurt Little Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoLau/pseuds/JoLau
Summary: Rosalie makes a comeback. It's not at all the reunion Marie could have hoped for. In fact - it's about a thousand times worse.
Relationships: Claire/Marie, Rosalie & Claire
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	I Never Wanted This (But I Have to Follow Through)

**Author's Note:**

> Marked as F/F rather than Gen because Claire and Marie's relationship is a large part of this.

Claire lashes out with a loaded kick to Rosalie’s inner hip, connecting right where the femur meets the pelvis with the heel of her boot. Rosalie jerks and grunts and almost falls off of her; she’s startled by how hard the impact actually _is_ . Claire’s got physical conditioning under her belt, sure, and was trained in the basics of _“nun-fu”_ before they all left Mercy, but holy _shit_ , it feels like a donkey kicked her, not some four-foot-eleven-inches tall pacifist (last she knew Claire abhorred violence, anyway) that probably weighs less than half of Rosalie’s total mass. 

Things really _have_ changed.

Claire writhes under her. She’s almost gotten away, and Rosalie can see that spring-loaded leg coiling up for another punch to her still-throbbing hip. Rosalie shoves her weight down and uses her superior strength to manhandle a better pin. She lodges her own knee into the joint of Claire’s leg and hip and bears down on it, her other leg pressing into the surprising density of Claire’s thigh. At Claire’s muted gasp of pain Rosalie flashes her teeth and grits her jaw; her right hand flies out and gropes at the outside of her right boot, fingers coiling around a wrapped grip. Claire’s eyes widen as she hears the sound of metal sliding free of velvet and leather. The tiny fighter throws her own arm in front of the column of her thin neck, protecting it with her shoulder and bicep. Rosalie’s guts squirm. Rosalie palms the raised elbow and shoves down. The unnatural twist of Claire’s shoulder makes Rosalie feel dizzy. 

She has to do this.

Sunlight glints off steel. Rosalie holds the narrow leaf-blade dagger between them. Claire’s eyes flicker between its wicked edge and Rosalie’s wretched stare. 

Rosalie smiles but it’s all wrong. “Abraham told me that you’re the only one who has to- your magic. It- it’s too dangerous, it’s too powerful, and too many people flock to power. If there’s no… if people don’t have someone- a _symbol_ \- to gather around, then no one else has to…” 

“Rosie-”

“The others can live. Marie and Oscar and Catharine.” The dagger waves dangerously in front of Claire’s face. Her eyes don’t leave Rosalie’s. “You get it, right? I- they’ll hate me, I know that, but they’ll be safe. Abraham said so. She _promised_ me that she’ll leave the others alone.” Rosalie can’t stand how Claire’s staring at her. Claire’s eyes aren’t supposed to look like that, terrified and heartbroken. She’s not supposed to be afraid of Rosalie. Rosalie vowed to protect Claire, she _promised-_

“I’m so sorry,” Rosalie sobs, “your whole life all you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. You only ever want to do what’s right. You’ve only- you’ve only ever been good and kind and- and I’m sorry, Claire. I’m _so sorry_ that it has to be _you_.” 

Bile rises high in Rosalie’s stomach- the point of the dagger pierces through leather and linen and flesh so easily. Claire, barely able to move, tries to lurch away. She can’t. “I’m so sorry, it’ll be fast, I promise-” bloodied steel slides free and punctures- again- the meat of Claire’s armpit. Rosalie bites down on her own tongue hard enough to bleed, bites down on the sick and her sobs as Claire trembles. Her hand leaves Claire’s elbow and comes to her paling cheek instead, the leather of her glove deceptively warm against her fingers. Claire’s mouth falls open, and Rosalie hears Claire croaking her name, and Rosalie presses her forehead against Claire’s clammy one and she starts to pull the dagger out so it can all just be _over_ -

_“Get_ **_off of her_ ** _!”_

The world flies past. Rosalie lands hard, the entirety of her left side throbbing. She pushes past the pain, blinking away tears, and-

“No, no no nonono, Claire, no-” she hears Marie.

Rosalie tries to stand. Constricting weight pushes down on her chest, sharp points pricking her skin through her Helsing regalia. She looks up; there’s a massive cat looming over her, snarling. Each of its canines are easily the length of her hand from the tip of her longest finger to the base of the wrist. Its horns, the cream-coloured fur, the cherry-pink, oozing markings; she remembers this cat. The memories are- they’re murky, bogged down and oily. Left cheek twitches; Rosalie recognizes it. This cat- this shard. Panic rings between her ears. She gropes for her sword but that’s useless; it’s yards away, embedded in the ground and covered in twisting roots at Claire’s command when they were still upright and fighting. Her dagger’s gone, too- Rosalie turns her head, empties the bile and blood in her mouth- still partially stuck in Claire’s axillary artery. Cheek in her own sick, Rosalie trembles and lies still, praying that the shard won’t decide it liked the way she tasted all that time ago. 

Marie tears away the sleeve of her shirt. She takes the dagger, pulls it free, stomach dropping at the wet _slppp_ of flesh and rushing blood; she pushes the torn fabric into the puncture. A wail rips from her throat as she notices the first stab wound, tucked against Claire’s ribs on the left side. Gripping Claire close, her body flopping limply against Marie’s chest, Marie sobs against Claire’s coat. “Stay with me, please, stay. Don’t leave me, I can’t- I can’t lose you too, _please_ -” Marie presses her ear against Claire’s chest, eyes opening at the dull, steady throb of her pulse. 

She sees Rosalie. Her vision blurs. 

“How… how _could_ you?!” Marie screams, reluctant to raise her head. “Why? Rosie- _Rosalie, why_ ?! Why did you do this?” Her head feels like she’s underwater. “ _Answer_ me!” Rosalie doesn’t. She stays silent under that giant, clawed paw. “Luma,” she utters breathlessly, ragged. The cat heeds her and releases Rosalie, prowling back to her and staying low and defensive in front of its wounded master. Rosalie rolls to her feet immediately. Her eyes are wild. Marie’s world is spinning. “You _died_ . You’re dead, _I felt you die_ , but you’re here, and now- and now- how? Why?!” God, Christ, whoever; Rosalie died and she came back and that should be a _blessing_ , it’s a _miracle_ , but it’s not now, is it, since she just- she just _stabbed Claire_ . She tried to _kill_ her.

Rosalie doesn’t answer the question. “She can’t- the _Horned One_ can’t come back.” It’s a shaky declaration even if Rosalie’s got her shoulders squared, her chin raised. Her chin wobbles; her jaw clenches. “Marie, if the _Horned One_ returns, imagine the damage! The casualties… the world won’t survive a second coming. It barely survived when she- when _Clementine_ died. It took everything for the Helsings to-” Rosalie sighs, her shoulders drooping under ten-ton weights. “If… If Claire gets the same following as Clementine did... if people put their blind faith in her, and pile on responsibilities she doesn’t know how to control, history will repeat itself. It- the consequences could be even _worse_ . Clementine had training. Abraham herself mentored her! And look at what happened. _Thousands_ died in Clementine’s wake.”

“Abraham is committing _genocide_ !” Marie yells, shrill. Luma growls; the air quivers. “How is that better? How is that- _why_ are you on the side of someone that kills people _like us_ as if it’s for the greater good?! It’s-” arms tighten around Claire; the makeshift compress is sticky and hot. “That’s such _horseshit,_ Rosalie.” 

Rosalie stares, heat rising behind her eyes. “Marie, _for once_ , look at the bigger picture. I don’t _want_ to do this. But if- if there’s no one to follow, there can’t be another uprising, and if there’s no uprising, then history doesn’t have to repeat itself.” Rosalie takes a beseeching step towards her twin. “The Helsings won’t have to hunt witches _en masse_ . They won’t… they won’t hunt _you_. Or Oscar and Catharine, or Lupo’s family-”

“They ‘ _won’t have to’_?” Marie feels raw. Like something has her between its jaws; crushing, sharp pressure around her skull. “No- no. No, Rosie. Shut up.”

“Marie, just _listen_ to me-”

“I _am_ listening!” Rosalie flinches back. Marie shucks off her shirt and tears it at the seams. “And frankly, I cannot _believe_ how you just… they- Abraham fed you the same propaganda we spent our entire childhoods, our entire _lives_ trying to get away from, and you just-” Marie ties her shredded shirt around Claire’s shoulder, under her armpit, balling up and forcing the largest parts of it against the puncture wound. Her hands are shaking. “You just _swallowed_ it.” 

“ _Marie_ .” Rosalie has, in Marie’s very strong opinion, absolutely _no_ right to sound exasperated. 

Marie hoists Claire onto Luma’s back and climbs up behind her, pulling Claire into the cradle between her thighs, limp body to Marie’s front. Marie’s fingers twist into the long fur of Luma’s spine-length mane; there’s still heat in Claire’s body, but it’s faint coming through Marie’s undershirt. They need to go to Marguerite. Luma rumbles as Marie nudges their ribs with her heels, and turns back from where they came. 

“Marie!”

Ignoring the call, Marie pushes her nose into Claire’s sweaty hair, water welling up in her eyes.

“ _Marie!_ ” Rosalie’s walking towards them, and Marie’s aura surges with cold-sharp thorns, _get away from me, get away from her, get away from_ **_us_ ** _-_

Luma growls. Marie feels it rattle her chest.

“Stay away from me,” her voice is steady, weird, placid, “just. Just _stay away from me_ , Rosie. God, just-”

“I’m trying to _protect you_!” 

“I don’t _fucking care!_ ” She doesn’t, she really doesn’t. Her entire body is burning white-hot-cold with the agony of betrayal; Rosalie’s _alive_ , but Claire could _die_ because of her. Because Rosalie straight-up stabbed her between the ribs. She has to go _now_. Luma’s stride breaks immediately into a gallop; Marie wishes they could run faster than they already are so she wouldn’t have to hear Rosalie call after her. 

x

Marie doesn’t leave Claire’s side. She removes the bloodied remnants of her shredded overshirt; sits back when Marguerite slices the laces of Claire’s jacket open with a scalpel, cuts the shirt beneath it wide open. Marie remains quiet and still as a statue unless Marguerite asks for help. She’s the only one allowed to be so close-by. Oscar would come over, maybe, if she didn’t have her arms full of Catharine, struggling to break free and take Claire’s wounds into her own body.

“Your lungs are already weak, fool woman, and hers could have a puncture,” Marguerite snapped, and Catharine glared at her with all the teary, protective fury a mother could muster. “Go and sit down. You’re not helping anything by trying to bite my head off.”

More cuts to Claire’s jacket and shirt so they can be completely removed, thrown aside so Marguerite can see the extent of the damage. Stethoscope above Claire’s left lung, her expression is pinched, but only for a moment. 

“Wonder of wonders,” breathes Marguerite, lightly touching the bruising incisions on Claire’s ribs and armpit. Against the lead weighing down her body, Marie shuffles closer to look for herself. Marie chokes on a sob.

“ _Chrysogonum virginianum_ , variety _australe,_ ” Marguerite intones, patting a wet sponge over the criss-crossing narrow creepers keeping Claire’s skin sewn shut. “Golden Star.” Marie looks at the doctor; Marguerite’s eyes are wet. “Her lung doesn’t sound wet at all. They must have stitched it shut almost immediately after it was punctured.” Marguerite eases forward, sweeping Claire’s bangs aside. “She will still need to rest. She’s lost blood, and her wounds are in delicate positions.” The doctor lingers, her thumb brushing over Claire’s forehead. Marguerite whispers, “thank the heavens,” sluggish tears sliding down her cheeks. She applies liberally a salve to expedite the healing process and ward away infections, covering the stitches with sterile gauze pads and wrapping them with bandages around her torso and shoulder with Marie’s help. 

Their group settles for the night, unwilling to push further. Olga keeps watch with Jackson, Raksha, and Hanabi, Raksha’s nose lifting to the air with every change in the wind’s direction. Olga follows her lead; two noses are better than one, after all. Oscar and Lupo cooperate to set up tents- Azi follows a similarly-sized, nine-tailed Kikuko into the woods to hunt for dinner. Magpie prepares a fire, and Marguerite organizes her medicines. 

Marie stays next to Claire. So does Catharine, once she’s made to promise she won’t use her magick. They’re silent, sitting at Claire’s bedside, leaning on each other. Catharine has Claire’s hand in her lap, clasped between her own; her weary eyes scan Claire’s body continuously, taking note of every bruise, every little cut. Her hands tremble and tighten around Claire’s one, and Marie feels pride crowd her chest, and she puts an arm around Catharine’s shoulders, her own hand closing atop of the joined ones in Catharine’s lap. “Thank you,” Marie mumbles into Catharine’s hair, closing her eyes as Catharine presses into her side weightily. 

“I promised,” Catharine whispers, watery. Marie kisses the side of her head.

Claire sleeps until early evening, waking just as Azi returns- a forest turkey and two sizable fish in her grasp- alongside Kikuko, gushing about how _cool_ it was to hunt alongside the kitsune. Kikuko, for Azi’s praises, lifts a sleeve coyly to her mouth.

Claire stirs silently, her eyelids fluttering. Marie jolts out of the light doze she fell into when Catharine gasps a loud, tearful, “ _Hello, dear heart,_ ” and pitches forward to hold Claire’s cheeks, kiss her forehead. Claire, disoriented, reaches up with her left arm to take Catharine’s hand; she cringes and hisses at her body’s vehement protest. Catharine clasps her hand over Claire’s left shoulder, gentle, and shushes her. 

“It’s okay,” Claire murmurs, leaning into Catharine’s affections with a gentle sigh. “I-I’m okay. The flowers, they helped me. I had some of their seeds and pollen stuck to the inside of my coat. I didn’t even have to ask them.” She’s smiling. She looks so tired. “After getting so many little injuries just from _travelling_ , I figured I should… I should have some contingency plan in place.” Claire tries to sit up, but without anything to lean on, that falls through. Huffing, Claire turns her head. Her eyes settle on Marie. Claire’s tired smile widens, just a smidge. “Hi.” 

It takes Marie’s everything to not throw herself onto Claire like Catharine did. “Hey, girlfriend,” Marie half-sobs, tears welling in her eyes again, relief filling her body up to its brim. Catharine shuffles so Marie can get closer; graciously, once she’s close enough, Marie folds over and rests her head directly on Claire’s chest. Her heartbeat’s warm. It’s strong. Marie bites her lip and tries not to ugly-cry. She settles for silently crying instead. Claire’s fingers settle on her head, combing through her hair. Marie shudders, pressing her runny nose against the scratchy bandages between Claire’s breasts. 

Catharine’s hand strokes Marie’s back in circles. “Dear heart, what happened?” The timbre of her voice is hushed and _so worried_ , because how couldn’t she be worried? The wounds- Claire’s wounds are clearly _stab wounds_ , not clumsy claw marks made by an animal or a shard. They’re precise, clean. Marie’s breath hitches. The mournful sob escapes her before she can stop it. The warm press of Catharine’s hand stills. Claire runs a thumb over Marie’s ear, behind it, holding her close. 

“...It’s best if everyone’s around to hear it,” Claire eventually says quietly, “and everyone should be sitting down. It’s… w-well, it’s complicated.” Understatement of the _century_ . Marie turns her head to look up at Claire, Catharine. Catharine looks between them; Claire just looks at Marie, eyes soft and so worried. _God_ . She just woke up after almost being stabbed to death and her first concern is _her._ Marie whimpers, shoving her face back into Claire’s chest.

“Can we have a moment, please?” It’s such a polite way to say _we need some space, thanks, come back later, preferably a lot later_. Catharine mumbles her assent, rising after she’s left another kiss on Claire’s brow and one on the back of Marie’s head. Marie’s hardly aware of Catharine’s retreating footsteps, but barely after the aforementioned moment Claire’s ushering Marie up, encouraging her to rest along her right side. Claire whispers, “I’m here,” and Marie thinks she garbles something that might sound like Claire’s name, casting her arm over Claire’s waist. Marie huddles close, tucks into the side of Claire’s neck, and finally, cries. Cries how she’s been aching to, for the past however many hours; sobs rattle her whole body, her face twisting until it’s painful. “I’m here,” Claire whispers, “I’m here.” She’s pulled half-over Claire’s body so her arms coil around her neck, instead, and so Claire can use both of her hands to comfort her. Her left cradles Marie’s ribs, and her right strokes through her hair; her lips against Marie’s ear, kissing and shushing and mumbling teary reassurances. “I’m here.” Claire whispers. 

Marie feels like she’s been crying for forever, once she finally manages to stop. Snuffling, she pushes herself up, hovering over Claire’s hurting body. Claire silently caresses her cheek; she’s not smiling, because she doesn’t have to deflect any concerns from Marie. Their conversation, wordless, is deafening. 

Rosalie is alive. They saw her; she’s living, breathing, warm. 

Rosalie leapt at Claire. Rosalie fought Claire. Rosalie tried to _kill_ Claire. 

Rosalie was wearing Helsing regalia. 

Marie heaves a dry sob. She leans down and presses her cheek against Claire’s, their skin sliding and wet. Guilt swirls in her like a hurricane. She feels heavy to her very bones, sorrow weighing her body down like an anchor attached a sinking ship. Marie lies against Claire’s chest, gasping for air; Claire silently cries with her, _for_ her. 

“We’ll be okay,” Claire presses their foreheads together, stroking the apple of Marie’s cheek with her thumb and fingers. “We’ll be okay, Marie. Trust me.”

“Always have,” Marie croaks, cupping the delicate slope of Claire’s jaw, “always will.” 

Claire rises up into Marie’s mouth and Marie reciprocates, chaste- but so full. 

_Thank God you’re alive._

_Thank God you were there when I needed you._

_Thank God you’re here._

x

Marie doesn’t leave Claire’s side the entire night. The rest of their group gathers by Claire and Marie, instead, bringing them a serving of dinner each. Luma curls around Claire, letting both women lean against their ribs as their chest rumbles with a growling purr. 

Even in her condition, Claire ensures Marie is getting food into her first, then takes a dinner roll for herself and tears it in two. She dips it into the bowl of fish broth Marguerite recommended she eat; takes a bite. Everyone’s watching her. There’s really no way to soften this blow, is there? She debates while chewing. She swallows. Sighs. 

“Marie and I were attacked while separate from the group, today.” Get the obvious out of the way first. “I sent Marie away to get help, and I tried to handle the situation alone. N-not the best idea. I managed, for a while at least. Then I got stabbed. Twice.” Claire tears her dinner roll into little pieces. Fluffy chunks of bread floating in her bowl of broth. 

“Who?” Demands Oscar. Her blue stare is so intense it’s burning. “Who did this to you? Where are they? They will answer to my sword, I swear by-”

“Rosalie.” Marie’s voice is gravelly; Oscar’s mouth snaps shut. Marie clears her throat. Says this clearly, “It was Rosalie.”

Olga gasps, “Rosalie? She’s… but she’s...!”

“I saw the bricks come down on her,” Jackson trembles, reliving a horrible memory. “ _I saw it_. The tower, it fell, and Rosie was right under it-”

“I know,” Marie pushes her plate away. She barely ate half of her dinner. “I-I felt it. W-wh-when sh-she… when the t-tower cruh-crushed h-her-” 

Claire’s hand takes hers. Marie, shaking, pushes into Claire’s unwounded side, lips and eyelids pinched tight. 

“Rosalie is alive.” Claire’s tone brokers no argument, and she forces herself to be still and calm in front of all the eyes staring at her, expressions of shock and awe flooding her vision. “Rosalie is _alive_ .” It should be a relief. It _should_ be. But. 

“She’s joined the Helsings.”

**Author's Note:**

> I- shamefully- do not remember if the megakitty has a canon alias! So they are named Luma here. I'll come back and edit if/when that name is proven incorrect. 
> 
> A personal headcanon regarding Marie/Claire as a couple: Claire strikes me as someone who readily accepts the role of caretaker. That's not to say Marie doesn't look after Claire, too, but after spending so long being the target of protectiveness to the point of it being stifling, I think Claire would really want to be the one who takes care of Marie. After all, Marie looked out for Claire for YEARS. Claire wants to return the favour! She wants to be able to protect and care for Marie, because Lord, no one else will let her do ANYTHING; Marie and Claire talk about it, obviously, and Marie feels so light and happy and a little guilty because, yeah, she's guilty of talking over Claire too. But Claire assures her that there's no grudge there, that she knows Marie just wanted what was best for her. There's definitely a shift after Rosalie... yeah... and Marie's not so sure of herself anymore, she doesn't have that reassuring, constant connection to her twin, and she needs someone to be that rock for her. Claire definitely leaps at the opportunity; not to take advantage, but to take care of Marie, because God, does she ever need someone to look out for her, especially in the first weeks, and Marie was the first one to reach out to her when she first lost the "baby". Claire just wants to take care of Marie. She deserves having someone to take care of her. Anyway, babbling. 
> 
> This wasn't proofread, and may be edited a few times on the sly. When the words are flowing, you gotta let 'em out! Feel free to yell at me in the comments. I deserve it, honestly.


End file.
